Boy in the Willow
by Draconai
Summary: See me now, a ray of light in the moondance. See me now, I cannot leave this place. Hear me now, a strain of song in the forest. Don't ask me to follow where you lead... AU, Presea/Genis with ambiguous reciprocation.


Draco: Late night. No Balance and Ruin inspiration. Turned off Tales of Symphonia after an annoying realization concerning arte paths. Not trusting Tales of Phantasia to not glitch up and corrupt my save again. Listening to a playlist put together by Kadi Fedoruk for her webcomic _Blindsprings_ , and becoming very interested in the fourth track. One YouTube watch on a slow connection later, BOOM! Idea. BOOM! Idea. BOOM! Idea.

Alright, you may be familiar with the song _The Willow Maid_ by Erutan. If you are not, you go to YouTube right now and watch her official music video. I mean it. Go. Now. The fic will still be here when you get back. That thing is gorgeous to the eyes _and_ the ears, and it deserves an audience untainted by my writing. Do it!

+x+x+x+

If you already knew the song in question, you have my apologies.

If you actually went and listened to the song and watched the video, you have my respect.

If your connection sucks a pair of watermelons and you don't want to risk a glitch due to that, you have my sympathies.

If you are adamant that you will read this without knowing what will transpire because its concept is lifted from another work, you have my praise.

+x+x+x+

Concept/plotline © Erutan. Kind of. Sort of. Maybe. I think.

Characters from Tales of Symphonia, © Namco-Bandai/Bandai-Namco. I legitimately have no idea which order that goes in.

* * *

 **Hunter**

The forest was not particularly lit, but nor was it exceptionally dark. The cover of the trees stopped the sun from being blinding, but their branches could not obscure it all. There was just enough light to make any shadows cast by movement noticeable, to anyone looking for such a thing.

In these conditions she had hunted, nearly since she could hold a weapon - and though this particular forest was not a ground in which she had hunted before, nothing about it was so unfamiliar as to dissuade her. Her garb allowed her to blend into the forest; her quiver, slung over her back, and her hunting bow, clenched tightly in one hand, were both similarly disguised. Her arrows were deep black, with fletches of white feathers, so that they might be recovered easily were they in any condition to be used again once fired; her hair of vibrant pink was bound into high twintails, so as to keep it from blocking her pale blue eyes.

Looking and listening for any signs of prey, she walked through the forest, an arrow set against the string of her bow to be drawn the moment she sighted prey. She found herself confused by what seemed to be a melody, flowing through the woods; nonetheless, she insisted to herself that it was nothing, having once lived near a tree whose nuts would whistle harmoniously when the wind caught them.

Nonetheless, the sound was enough to keep her slightly off-guard - and as such, she was not as responsive as she would have liked when something rushed her from behind. Only the beast's cry as it pounced stopped her from being struck to the earth and slain; as it was, her dive to the ground left her grazed across the shoulder with sharp claws, and her arrow bent just slightly when caught between her body and the forest floor. From only a glimpse did she realize her attacker - a grown leopard, dangerous game with favourable reward. The moment her momentum ceased, she braced herself on one knee, firing at the offending beast before it could recover from its missed pounce. The damaged arrow did not fly favourably, but it did strike the beast in the leg, causing it to howl and start to flee.

One damaged limb was disadvantage enough to turn predator into prey; she quickly drew another arrow and fired, this one striking her target center and throwing it to the forest floor.

With tight breath did she reach for her wounded shoulder; the graze had not crippled her, but there was a small wound, bleeding lightly, and the sensitivity would be detrimental if untended. Reaching for a small pack she wore on her belt, she drew out some bandages and wrapped the wound - no permanent solution, but enough to last her the hunting session. She approached the fallen leopard, drawing a knife with which she intended to reap its reward, when a realization struck her.

The melody echoing through the forest... was carried on a _voice_.

Her hunt forgotten, she continued into the wood, trying to find the source of melody. As she grew closer, she realized that the voice was that a of boy, and then that it was that of a youngling. Eventually, she found herself at a wall of entwined trees, from the other side of which the voice surely must have originated. Carefully - for she did not want to risk disturbing anything that might retaliate - she climbed up the tangled branches, eventually reaching a crook in the tree from which she could descend to the other side.

The tangled trees formed a ring around a clearing, in the center of which grew a great willow. Sitting at the base of the tree, within a ring of toadstools red, was a boy, no older than herself, with hair of vibrant silver. No sooner had she touched down than he turned to face her, and so did the melody cease.

The two were silent for the longest time, their gaze upon one another even as they were too far away to see one another's faces.

Then, slowly, she approached him; and in response, he rose to his feet. His body was clad in a tunic that seemed to blend with the willow behind him, and his ears came to peculiar points. His eyes were a deep, mystic blue, and his skin pale; as he stood, one hand set upon the tree as though to support himself - though his stance appeared sturdy enough that she did not see him as needing support.

"Hello."

He was the first to speak, and his voice was faded, as though he were not accustomed to speaking. "Are you on your own?"

"Yes," she replied. "I came here hunting, and was surprised to hear someone singing within the forest."

His head became angled in confusion, his expression shifting to one of concern. "A hunter? At your age?"

Her gaze fell to the earth. "My mother passed shortly after I was born," she confessed. "My father followed her, not long after I learned to hold a bow. Wherever I go, I find myself surrounded by people with no sympathy to me." At that, she looked back up to him. "But you are not much older than I. Are you on your own, as well?"

An expression rose on his face, unfamiliar to her; he seemed thoughtful, in such a way that he was pleased and displeased at once by his thoughts. "You may say I am," he replied. "But at the same time, you may say I am not. I know only one other like myself, and she and I do not share as much correspondence as I would like; but we are family, nonetheless."

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, confused.

In response, his hand parted from the bark of the willow, and he raised it to the branches above him - and she was astonished to see a branch shift, its wood changing as it reach down, as would an arm on he or she. When its end was immediately above him, a single leaf parted from the surface, fluttering down to his hand; at that point, the branch rose up again to join its brethren. The leaf came to a stop upon his palm, and he held it out to her; she could not speak, her gaze fixed on the leaf.

"I am of this tree," he concluded, in response to her question.

Her gaze shifted up to him, and he offered her a small smile. "May I ask your name?"

"Presea," she replied. "And you?"

"Genis," he responded.

Weakly did a smile rise on her face as well - unfamiliar with reason to be joyful, the smile hardly reached her eyes. "I am... pleased to meet you," she mused. "May I ask... would you accompany me, to my home? It would put my mind at ease, having someone who may speak to me with other than disdain."

His smile faltered at her request. "I am sorry," he insisted. "I cannot."

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked.

"I am not but a ray of light in the moondance." Slowly as he spoke did he lower himself to the floor of the forest. "I cannot leave this place."

His words hurt her, for a reason she could not determine; she fell to her knees outside the ring of toadstools red. "Truly?"

Leaning forward, he set one hand on her shoulder. "If it pleases you, you are free to return. I will hear any story you wish to share." He held out the leaf, undisturbed on his palm.

Hesitant, she reached forward, taking the leaf by the stem; then she got to her feet. "I will, at that," she promised him. "Perhaps not tomorrow, but I will return."

Slowly did she walk away from him, climbing back up the entwined trees and dropping to the forest floor outside the clearing. Only then did she realize his hand had set upon her wounded shoulder, and she reached for the bandaged flesh, surprised that the skin was no longer so sensitive. A moment's pause; then she drew off the bandages, letting them fall to the forest floor and brushing her fingers across her own skin.

The wound was gone.

* * *

 **Associate**

She lived in a village not far outside his forest, the fourth home for her in as many years; and she kept to her word, and returned him in three days' time, this time making her way to his ringed clearing before attempting to hunt. He did not seem to mind the passage of time, welcoming her as though she had hardly left. An unpleasantness had occurred since she had departed, and she told him of it; but he offered her comfort, and assured her that she could overcome it.

Time passed in this fashion, with her travelling every so often through through the forest in which he sang. Sometime she would tell him of her misfortunes, sometimes of her victories, and sometimes simply of a sight that had brought her amusement. Her association with him let her see the world in a different light - a more pleasant light. And he would always welcome her with a smile, whether she had come just the previous day or been made to wait a week. A year after they had first met, she realized she had been in the village for longer than she had been any village since she was on her own; yet she chose to make no change to that, for she enjoyed her conversations with him.

Over time, she came to realize that it was not mere conversation that drew her to him.

Some many years after their first encounter, she waited longer than normal before she walked through the forest. This time, she was not garbed to hunt; her body was adorned in a small dress of deep green, and her hair unbound from the twintails in which she normally kept it. She held her hands together before her, for between them was a flower - a rose with petals of a beautiful golden hue - that she dared not allow to be damaged.

Climbing the entwined trees one-handed, so as to no harm the bloom, was a challenge; but not one insurmountable. When she arrived in the crook of the tree, he was singing beneath the willow as always; on hearing her drop down into the clearing, he turned to her as she approached, his song fading away. His eyes flit briefly to the flower held in her hands, but he made no comment and only smiled to her softly.

"Hello again, Presea," he greeted.

"Hello, Genis," she reciprocated, a smile rising on her own face; her eyes no longer bore the cold hunting stare with which she had first met him

He got to his feet. "How long has it been, this time?"

A question he had asked so often, she had thought nothing of it, for short numbers of monotonous days in the past often left her to lose track of which it was; but this time, the question caused her smile to fall. "Fourteen days," she replied. "Did you not notice...?"

"I am sorry," he insisted, his own smile gone as he realized the effect of his words. "A tree will live until the world no longer does, so long as nothing in the world disturbs it. Time seems to pass so slowly. It seems not long ago that you first came to me, wounded and curious."

"I see..." A quiet sigh passed through her lips.

He saw that this was not a subject she would like to continue on, and so let the subject of their conversation change. "You look beautiful," he praised. "Is there occasion for you to dress so?"

This drew her smile to return, and her gaze fell to the golden flower in her hands. "I... yes, I suppose," she admitted. "The village I call home... the people have begun to ask if there is anyone who has caught my eye. They find it strange that I am yet on my own. Most of the villagers by my age have found someone with whom they choose to live."

He seemed surprised, but pleasantly so; a joyful smile adorned his face as she said this. "So, you have found someone with whom you would like to live?" he inquired. "Your garb, then, would be to catch his eye, as he has caught yours."

A quiet, brief laugh passed through her lips, and she stepped towards his willow slowly; when he made no objection, she leaned against the tree, her back against the bark. "You may say it is," she admitted. "But at the same time, you may say it is not. I have found someone I would like to be with, but I would wager that I have already caught his affections, as he has caught mine. It is customary, however, that when spending time with one whom you care for, you dress to please their eye."

The words confused him lightly. "What do you mean by that?"

In response, she turned to him, her eyes gazing into his own. One hand parted from the flower in her grip; the other offered it toward him. The action caught him off-guard, and his gaze fell to the yellow bloom. After a brief moment, he seemed to realize her intention; one foot stepped back, and his smile faded, to be replaced with an expression of shock. When his gaze returned to her face, he found a gentle smile awaiting him.

"I would live with you," she concluded, in response to his question. "My heart, you've captured."

She reached her empty hand forward, catching his own, and set the flower into it gently. A minute passed, perhaps two, with his gaze on the growth she had given him; then he shook his head slowly, his eyes closing, and he held the bloom back towards her.

"I am sorry," he insisted. "I cannot."

Her smile faded, replaced with a look of horror. "What...?"

"I am not but a strain of song in the forest." His hand caught hers, and he laid the flower in her palm. "So long as this willow stands, I cannot leave it."

She stepped back, her gaze on the flower. "But..."

He lowered himself to the forest floor. "You would have no comfort, living in this place. And I cannot venture from this wood. Find someone else, for I cannot be with you. Not near, nor far, nor soon."

For a brief moment, she appeared as though she were to speak to him again; then her fist closed upon the yellow bloom, and she turned away, racing to the edge of the clearing. Her hands found hold in the entwined trees, and she clambered up the barrier in haste; upon landing on the other side, she fled from the wood as fast as her feet would allow.

It was not long before she arrived at her home, at the edge of the village, and only then did her pace slow. A small flame was burning in a fire pit outside her home, and she cursed her carelessness for having forgotten to extinguish it before departing for the forest. Her hands clenched in her self-induced irritation; this brought pain in one, and she turned to see that she was still holding the golden rose, damaged from her careless flight. The thorns along its stem, though minute enough that a careful grip would bring no harm, had dug into her palm when she had gripped it tightly.

A long moment's pause.

Then she stepped towards the fire, and let the golden rose fall into it, its petals burning away in an instant.

* * *

 **Axman**

Days became weeks.

She refused to venture into the woods for anything but hunting, and she hunted so much more at a time, so as to ensure she did not need to return so soon. His song continued in the forest, but she refused to let it draw her to him, lest the memory of what had transpired between them bring her to sorrow.

Weeks became months.

The people of the village saw the change in her behaviour, and when it showed no signs of receding began to question her. She would not answer their queries, and when she began to wear her quiver and hunting bow at all times, they dared not push her further. Her thoughts turned to his words, trying to determine what it was she had missed, trying to find a way that would bridge this gap between them.

Months became a year.

It was then that she walked through the forest, the sun all but set at her back. She was adorned in her hunting garb, but wore no arrows, nor anything with which to fire them. Held in two hands was a weapon - a firm shaft of wood, with a great blade set upon it. Her hair was bound in twintails again, and her eyes once more held a cold stare. The forest was dark from the late hour at which she arrived; the only light was that of the full moon, leaving the forest draped in darkness - ill conditions in which to hunt, but beautiful simply to observe.

His song flowed through the woods even in the darkness, only adding to the beauty of the nightlight; soon enough, she found the entwined trees that marked the edge of the clearing. Her weapon was braced over one shoulder, freeing her other hand so that she could climb the tangled branches. It was still more challenging with the extra weight, and one hand occupied, but soon enough, she was at the crook of the tree, and she could see him seated under the willow. Her grip shifted on her weapon, that she held it in both hands again, and she leapt down; her landing carried more weight, and he seemed to notice, for he turned with a suddenness he had not before.

And he started upon seeing her there, with an axe sharp as a knife.

"Presea...?" He got to his feet in a hurry, setting one hand upon his willow. "Why are you...?"

"Are you displeased to see me, Genis?" Her voice did not carry the joy it had in their last meeting; it was a detached hunter's voice, as she had used when first they had encountered one another.

He shook his head. "You have not come here for a year," he observed. "What are you doing?"

A weak smile rose on her face, hardly reaching her eyes. "Were you waiting for me?"

"Why do you have that?" he demanded.

She only lowered her gaze to the weapon closed in her hands. "You said it yourself," she insisted. "You cannot leave this place, for as long as the willow stands."

A horrifying realization swept over him. "No... you cannot mean-!"

"I would set you free, Genis," she promised.

And she began to advance on the great willow, her axe gleaming in the moonlight.

He stepped into her path, hoping to dissuade her. "Presea, no!"

"Step aside, Genis," she insisted.

"You cannot fell this tree!" he pleaded. "I-"

"You would stay here?" she demanded of him. "You would let yourself be imprisoned in this wood? You would have me live alone, in sorrow?!"

He shook his head, desperate. "Presea, listen to me!"

She failed to heed his warning, taking one step past him - such that he could not move to stop her before she brought the blade of the axe into the ancient tree.

A scream of pain tore through his lips, and he stumbled back as she drew the axe from the willow - which already bore an irreparable scar. She quickly struck again, and again did he cry out, this time falling to his knees. Yet again did she strike; he collapsed to the forest floor, tears flowing from his eyes. He called her name, trying to dissuade her, but the pleas fell on deaf ears.

It felt an eternity passed, under the full moon; but at last the ancient tree was felled, crashing to the earth with a fierce roar. The weapon was braced against her shoulder as she turned to him, weeping; slowly, she approached him, kneeling before him. Movement drew his gaze, and he looked up to see her offering him her hand.

"Now your willow's fallen," she observed. "Come with me."

His voice was broken as he spoke. "P-Pre-Presea..."

Her weapon was lowered, and she knelt at his side, slinging his arm over her shoulder so she could support him as she raised him from the forest floor. The axe was gripped again, this time dragging across the earth as she led him; he walked at her side, but his stance was not sturdy enough that he could walk without support.

He had nearly followed her out the forest when his strength left him. His legs gave way under him, and she could not act to keep him up before he fell from her support, and collapsed upon the earth. Her hand left her weapon, and she knelt at his side.

"Genis...? Genis!"

His gaze rose to her, and his mouth opened as though to speak; but no sound left it before his eyes closed, and he collapsed upon the earth. She moved to lift him - but before she could make contact, his body began to glow. Her eyes were wide as she watched; fragments of silver light parted from his flesh, and his body became faded, transparent, until there was nothing left where he had been.

From the earth on which he had lain, something began to grow; a flower, its stem dark as the night sky above her. Her gaze was fixed on it as it rose, a bud appearing at its tip; after a moment's pause, it bloomed, silver petals parting in the moonlight.

"Did he not tell you?"

The words were carried on a woman's voice, and the axman raised her gaze to see someone standing there, leaning upon a tree with her arms crossed. Her skin was pale in the moonlight, and her hair shimmered as silver as the flower before her; she was garbed in a tunic that blended into the bark behind her, and she had an expression of disdain upon her expression.

"Or did you simply refuse to listen?"

The axman got to her feet, her fingers closing on the handle of her fallen weapon. "What are you saying?"

"Who lives in the willow has their life bound to it. You cannot take from the forest what was never meant to leave."

At that, she seemed to vanish, such that the axman questioned if she had really seen her.

Her gaze fell to the silver flower below her, and for a brief moment, she considered pulling it from the earth, and taking it home.

Then that moment ended.

Tears welled in her eyes, as she realized what she had done; she set her axe against her shoulder, and made her way out the forest, returning to her home.

* * *

Draco: Good goddess Martel, I hate myself for writing this.

If you've yet to see and hear the corresponding song, I'll explain here.

 _The Willow Maid_ tells the story of a dryad with a beautiful singing voice, and a man who finds himself captivated by her beauty (apparently, if you stop there, that's a rather common tale. I had no idea. I still haven't heard or read anything like that). Alas, dryads being what they are, she cannot stray further from her willow than her hair will reach (granted, her hair is 'Rapunzel, eat your heart out' long, but most of it is quite literally bound to the branches), and as such rejects his affections (though by choice or chance is left ambiguous, which seems to be intentional). After repeated attempts to win her favour end, the man takes an axe and chops the tree, then leads the dryad from the forest (with accompanying animation that carries the type of undertones of which I would not willingly write blatancy to save my life). She dies the moment she leaves the forest, leaving a single bloom of moonlace in the place where she fell - and the man is left realizing all his attempts have been for naught.

Yeah, kinda heartwrenching. I swear to all Etro that Erutan was reading something CLAMP made when she came up with that. I hope I did it justice.


End file.
